The Cursed Beauty
by Ethereal Wishes
Summary: The Dark One curses Belle with agelessness and with ugliness until she finds her true love who is the only one who can see her as she truly is. The only night she ventures out is on the night of the Hallowseve festival held down in a local village close to her castle. This Hallowseve, Belle meets someone who might hold the key to breaking her curse.


The Beauty's Curse

A/AN: I hope you all enjoy this story! I wrote it for my good friend Kindleheartzyou! I hope it meets your expectations!

Many Years Ago...

Maurice French was the despicable Duke of the Frontlands. He was unkind to his subjects and forced his servants into hard labor. He was so wicked that he hanged his first wife, Colette, because she couldn't bear him a male heir to the throne. The couple's union was blessed with one daughter, Belle. Unlike her father, she was compassionate and merciful to her people. She had long wavy locks of chestnut hair and piercing sapphire eyes. The duke sent Belle away to Avonlea when she was nine to be tutored and raised into a noblewoman of standard. Her father wed three more times after her mother's execution but no other heir was born to him.

The years trudged on, and Belle transformed into a brilliant young woman. She had the world at her fingertips, and kings and nobles from all across the realm vied for her hand in marriage. There was to be a grand celebration thrown in her honor for her coming of age. She was dressed in the finest of silks and her golden ballgown was envied by all the ladies of the court. She greeted each guest with a smile and danced with all the princes from every faraway kingdom that could be named.

Dancing and drinking carried on into the night until a firm knock was heard at the door. Maurice was looming in the shadows and heard the knock first. He sauntered to the door, believing it was some other noble late for the gathering. When he opened the door, he was astonished to see an old beggar standing there with a bent tin cup. His face was shrouded by a patched cloak, and he reeked of urine.

"Could you spare alms for the poor, sir?" the old beggar inquired, holding out his cup. Maurice scoffed at the cretin.

"The only thing I'll offer you is a damned noose! Now get out!" he blared, spitting in the man's face, and kicking him hard in the gut. The beggar stammered backwards, and the duke expected him to scurry away sniveling. Maurice reeled back in horror as the beggar's hood fell around his shoulders to reveal the most fearsome creature he'd ever gazed upon. The beggar wasn't a man but a demon covered in shimmering scales who had ruined teeth and goblin eyes. His hair curled at the ends, and he grinned menacingly at the duke.

"No one double crosses the Dark One, Dearie! My only goal tonight was to attend the ball and dance with the princess, but it's apparent I'm not welcome here. I still have a gift to bestow upon you and all of your companions. You're a barbarous man, Sir Maurice, so on this night I gift you with the gift of death. May you rot eternally in the bowels of hell!" he pronounced through bared fangs. Maurice placed his hand over his heart before tumbling backwards onto the flagstone. His skull cracked upon impact and he was gone. The Dark One traipsed over him, setting his sights on the beauty chortling gaily with an unsuspecting monarch. He descended the stairs, sauntering towards her. He snapped his fingers, donning his best attire. The crowd gasped in revulsion at his appearance but it didn't deter him.

Belle fixated her glimmering irises on the Dark One, too perturbed by his presence to speak. He smirked at her displeasure, involuntarily taking her hand and kissing it. "Tonight is your eighteenth birthday, milady, and it should be one of your fondest memories but because of your father's unkindness towards me, you too shall pay the price. I pronounce the curse of agelessness and ugliness upon you! From this day onward, you shall be eternally preserved in this form. A gray hair shall not grace your head nor a wrinkle your face until you find true love. Only then will you continue to age, but I won't make it easy for you, dearie. Others will see you as an ugly woman and will look away in repulsion. Your true love will be the only one who'll be able to see you truly as you are," he cackled evilly, flourishing his hand in her direction. A hunchback formed and her face filled with warts. Her beautiful silken waves of hair became stringy and greasy and her pearly white teeth became jagged. When she attempted to speak, her musical voice came out as a vile screech.

Belle gazed out over the audience of nobles who fled in droves towards the exit. She attempted to reach for Prince James, the man she'd just engaged in conversation with, but he yanked his hand away in revulsion. "Get away from me you, hag!" he scoffed, believing he would be cursed if she touched him.

She gaped in horror as she looked down at her skin which was now covered in warts. She tried to speak but her voice came out as an unpleasant howl. She scanned the crowd, searching for the dastardly Dark One, but he'd already vanished. The room was desolate except for her deceased father lying in the corner. All of their servants and dignitaries had fled, the moment they'd caught sight of her. Belle let out an anguished howl once she realized she was all alone.

The Duke of the Frontland's estate became overgrown with ivy as the years ticked by. Belle tucked herself away into the confines of the castle, covering all of the mirrors so she didn't have to gaze upon her hideous form. She'd lost track of time and barely ventured out of the castle. There was one night of the year she found she was welcomed by the masses and it was the night of Hallowseve. Belle could freely leave the castle without the fear of others scorning and mocking her appearance. On this singular night of the year, others donned on their most hideous masks and attempted to make themselves look as beastly as possible. There was a small village which dwelt near her castle where she attended their yearly Hallowseve festival. She didn't converse with the villagers, but they often complimented her costume choice. It was good to be praised even if it was for the wrong reasons. She craved human contact, even if it was falsely attributed. The food was delicious, and the wine flowed freely.

The villagers believed dressing up in scary attire kept the demons at bay, though Belle didn't believe in such superstitions. She knew the only demon around was herself. As she journeyed into the town square, she could hear the lively sounds of fiddler's playing their catchy tunes and the smell of delicious baked goods wafting into the night air. She cautiously allowed the hood of her cloak to fall around her shoulders. She scanned the crowd, the anxious knot in her stomach loosening once she realized no one was staring at her. She blended in with the other occupants who had their faces stained with paints falsely mimicking blood and homemade masks.

"How do you get the warts to stay on like that?" inquired a childish voice from behind her. She slowly turned around to see a boy with a mop of brown curls staring at her inquisitively. Before she could respond, a man with brown graying locks falling in his face appeared. He gazed at her with warm sable eyes which made her heart flutter. No one had looked at her so compassionately before.

"My apologies, missus. My son often forgets his manners. Tell this lovely young woman you're sorry, Bae," the peasant commanded in a fatherly tone. Belle gazed at him as if he'd grown another head. Did he just call her lovely? Her body was covered with warts, her teeth were jagged, and her hair was a stringy mess. Her hunchback didn't help matters either. She was so revolting that even the wolves would scurry away in fear of her loathsome appearance. The boy gave him a puzzled look and so did Belle at his rebuttal. Was he blind to her hideousness?

"I'm sorry," the boy mumbled, averting his eyes sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his head as his father hit him off over the head with his walking stick disapprovingly.

"Look her in the eye and act like you mean it, son," he retorted. The boy sighed, fixating his gaze on her.

"I'm really sorry, mam," he apologized sincerely.

"It's alright," she whispered hoarsely, keeping her voice low so she didn't screech.

"You sound like you're catching a cold. Why don't you come back to my place, and I'll give you a bit of whiskey for your throat," the man offered her generously. The peasant's son growled in irritation.

"But, father! You said we could attend the festival!" he protested. He ruffled his son's hair and pointed towards a woman in the distant crowd.

"Over there is Moraine and her mother. Why don't you go and join her? I'll be back in a little while, son," he assured him. Baelfire ran off to join the young girl and her mother. Her eyes lit up at the sight of his presence. Belle's heart swelled joyously for them. She could envision the both of them falling in love along the way and starting a family once they were older.

"I don't care much for these large gatherings myself. What about you-" he remarked, pining for her name.

"Belle," she responded apprehensively.

"Pardon?" he asked, scrunching his nose in confusion at her answer.

"My name is, Belle." she affirmed and his cheeks colored at her clarification.

"Pardon my ignorance, missus Belle," he apologized, clearing his throat awkwardly. They walked down a dirt path together, passing poorly constructed hovels. She counted them all absentmindedly, wondering which one was his.

"And what's your name?" she inquired, hoping she didn't startle him with her unpleasant voice. Her vocal chords reverberation sounded like rats had chewed through them.

"It's quite a funny moniker. My name is Rumpelstiltskin, but the other villagers call me, Rumple. I'm a spinner by trade, and I sell my threads at the market every Saturday. I haven't ever seen you around here before. Where are you from?" he asked, halting in front of a hovel more poorly constructed than all the others.

"I hail in a village not far from here. The Hallowseve festival is just more impressive here than where I'm from," she fibbed, concealing her true whereabouts. She couldn't fathom why he'd taken her to his home, but she'd blindly followed him because having someone to talk to without judgment was so liberating.

"I see. I apologize, but my home isn't exactly the finest. I'm sure you've seen better," he added, pushing open the door. Belle couldn't understand why he cared so much about what she thought of his residence. She was no one he should feel honored to meet.

"Your home is fine, Rumpelstiltskin," she reassured him, feeling her stomach flip flop from the first time she said his name. She blinked in confusion when she heard herself speak. Her voice seemed less scraggly than it had before. The shack was a modest one room shack. It included a spinning wheel sitting in the center of the room, two makeshift pallets settled by the hearth which an iron pot hung over, a chamber pot settled in the corner, and a large trough for washing. She watched him pull a small bottle from the cupboard and hand it to her.

"It's a bit strong but it should help your throat. The change in weather can be the cause of that sometimes," he remarked. She plucked the bottle from his hands and uncorked it. She placed it to her lips, taking a careful sip. The liquid pleasantly burned her throat. She knew she wasn't ill and that was the natural tone of her voice, but she humored the spinner and his kindness. She wouldn't give a man of his station a second glance if she'd still been a beautiful princess, but she was so starved for affection and was willing to beg for the scraps she was given, like the dogs which sat under their master's table, awaiting a tasty morsel to fall.

"Thank you," she returned, handing the bottle back to him.

"You're quite welcome. I have a bit of rabbit stew left in the pot if you're hungry, unless you'd like to get back to the festival. There not really my thing, but Bae enjoys them. I know he'd rather spend the evening without me, so I'll stay away as long as I can," he offered, diverting his gaze away demurely, and she had a feeling there was an underlying meaning to his words.

"Yes, stew sounds lovely," she consented, and she could have sworn she saw his face light up at her acceptance of his invitation. He quickly warmed them up a bowl and sat it down at his makeshift table which was a long uneven piece of wood attached to four crooked table legs. He filled her bowl generously and poured them both cups of water to accompany it. The hours ticked by aimlessly, and Rumpelstiltskin filled them with conversation about his son, his estranged wife who'd left him, and how he'd fled the battlefront during the ogre wars to spare his son from growing up without a father. She wondered how he could open to her so freely, and she wondered if it was because she didn't appear intimidating or judgmental. He poured his soul out to her effortlessly, and she believed he was as starved for human contact as she was. She figured the only reason he'd asked her to accompany him was because he was lonely. Why else would he have invited an ugly hag to his home? Tears stung her eyes as she stood up from the table. She had to leave before he realized this was her true form and not a mask.

"Belle, what's wrong? Did I say something?" he queried, full of disbelief as he tried to reach for her.

"No! You were perfect, but I have to leave. This isn't a mask I'm wearing! It's my true form! I'm cursed, and I'll be eternally alone. I come out on this night once a year, because it's the one night I can act like this is a masquerade. I can pretend I'm a normal human being without the fear of others judging me," she revealed, pulling away from him.

"Please, don't leave," he pleaded with her, seizing her by the wrist and pulling her forward. She gasped as he pressed his lips to hers in desperation. The kiss was chaste but left her longing for more.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go!" she remarked, pushing him away and dashing out the door. They'd conversed during the wee hours of the morning, and the sun was beginning to ascend over the hillside. Villagers gazed at her awestruck, and she wondered why they weren't throwing stones at her in horror. It was only when she tripped over an uprooted tree branch and saw her reflection in a murky puddle, that she realized her hideous form had dissipated. She blinked her azure eyes in confusion as she reached up to touch her face. The warts were gone and her hair felt silky smooth again. She opened her mouth to touch her crooked teeth and felt nothing but smooth ivories. She stood up straighter than she had in seventy-five years, her hunchback completely gone. It dawned on her that Rumpelstiltskin had never seen her as the old hag but as her true self. The Dark One had told her that her true love was the only one who would see her as she truly was. It was why his son had been perturbed by her warts but he hadn't.

Tears filled her eyes as she stood up and dashed back to the hovel where she'd left him. She stalked through the front door where he stood, flummoxed. "I thought I'd never see you again," he remarked as she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him breathlessly.

"Me neither and it's quite a long story if you're willing to hear it," she smiled genuinely for the first time in ages.

"I have all the time in the world for you, Belle," he returned, dusting an erratic chestnut curl from her eyes. She relayed the entire tale to him, from being cursed by the Dark One to living in isolation for the past seventy-five years. Rumpelstiltskin didn't doubt a word of her tale and pledged his heart to her from that day forward. Belle put her old life behind her, and she adored the looks the populace gave her as she traipsed through town with her beloved. They couldn't believe she would choose a poor spinner as her husband, but what they didn't know was he'd chosen her at her ugliest. She was happy, and the wrinkles and age lines that had began to appear on her face was proof of it.

A/AN: I hope you enjoyed this prompt Kindleheartzyou! I simply loved writing this for you!


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